


The carriage confession

by AdynDtrio



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Valjean knows how/whom to hate too, awkward carriage, considered to be m/m because of reasons, i don't know what to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdynDtrio/pseuds/AdynDtrio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'He’s not dead yet. He's still breathing,' The ex-convict corrected in his absent-mind. '...But he might.'</p><p>he -might-</p>
            </blockquote>





	The carriage confession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Words in italic were borrowed from Les Misérables, Isabel F. Hapgood’s version.
> 
> beta reader: Nikoleto (thanks again! :D)

_The carriage drove rapidly away, ascending the quays in the direction of the Bastille._

Time and time again, Valjean would turn around and shudder. Marius _seemed to be awaiting only a coffin_. There he saw Marius's blood dripping down from his wound at every bump.

'That's enough,' Javert snapped, his voice cold as usual. 'That corpse won't fall.'

'He’s not dead yet. He's still breathing,' The ex-convict corrected in his absent-mind. '...But he might.'

Something was wrong in the answer; Javert almost pointed at him to start an argument in response, but the other man lowered his head and started to pray. What an annoying disciple! The inspector rolled his eyes and turned his head away. From his experience, the godly ones always carried some wicked, immoral inside. Or to be specific, Jean Valjean was the one who hid the mark of Cain under his pharisaical feature.

As if this was not annoying enough, Javert never thought about the day he would have to ask himself: What if, conversely, what if Jean Valjean were a jailbird with a holy soul?

The carriage suddenly stopped. The wheels screeched into the street, not hard enough to throw them up from the seat but from their minds. The inspector grabbed Valjean by the back of his collar to stop himself from falling, and cursed unwittingly for his interrupted thoughts. Valjean blinked, recalled about Marius and turned back again.

'It can't be worse.' Javert assured. The inspector still referred to Marius as a body, slightly satisfied by the nervousness he saw in Valjean's face. The convict pulled his lips into a sad smile, and gave Javert a melancholy gaze. Shadow shed from his face, turned his usual stoic expression into a ruthful martyr.

He slowly said with a tone of drowning man, 'You know what, Javert? I almost think he should be worse... because if he were better, he will take my daughter away.'

'Save your confessions for the court.' Javert responded impassibly.

'But you will not let me stop by the church, will you?' Valjean laughed but humorless. 'And most of all, you're taking me away.'

'Then shut the fuck up. I'm thinking.' He bawled back, and almost grabbed the stronger man his collar up to shake. The older man obeyed and that made him calm down a bit, feeling that the situation was in his control again. Javert shot him a sharp glance; saw his deep sorrow and another feeling. He never understood Valjean promptly and never attempted to, but this time suddenly he knew. There was something in his tone and the words he chose; "might": it could be considered as longing rather than a guess.

'Ah! You hate him, don't you? Valjean-the-saint knows how to hate, how intriguing.' Javert mumbled to himself with a fake amused tone, still using formal form of "you". The so-called saint jerked his eyes away, studied his hands attentively.

‘I’m not a saint, Javert.' He sighed yieldingly, his words confessed his feelings. 'Yet I'll pray for him due to Cosette's happiness, for her future. Whether I like it or not.'

The inspector looked at him mockingly; keeping his harsh, cold tone. 'What's the problem then? Unfamiliar to hatred? No, that couldn’t be, you hate me. '

A strange silence grew between them at once after his words concluded. Then through the dead air Valjean gently eyed his inspector.

That night was starless and even the street lamps were out. But in the darkness, Javert still noticed the twinkle in the convict's eyes. Valjean's tone was honest and almost entreating. It was too late for the inspector to stare him down.

'Once I was afraid of your shadow,' Valjean admitted, 'but hate, no, I never hated you.’


End file.
